is like a human without a soul. Or so the quote goes. If this holds true, then my apartment is very very soulful. As I was lugging box after box up the stairs the other night, in a moment of weakness, I thought about how I could store all of these books on an e-reader. But once the hard work was done, and the opening began, I was filled with happiness akin to that of seeing old friends after a long absence. There was King Lear from my freshman year of college. I consider that tattered copy to be irreplaceable. It is a chronicle of who I was as a freshman (I apparently felt that every word Shakespeare penned was genius; ergo it must be underlined AND highlighted AND circled). Or my Betsy Tacy books, which are falling apart and held together with optimism and scotch tape. I grew up alongside Betsy and Tacy and Tib, and these books testify to that. There are others, and I could go on and on.
That being said, I love having all of these books. But I also live in a small apartment. Books are everywhere. I really need some floor to ceiling shelves, but instead I find myself artfully arranging stacks and setting objects on top of them.
On my pinterest I have an entire board dedicated to book images. For myself I imagine this:
However, the apartment currently looks more like this: